


chimera

by youcouldmakealife



Series: but always in tandem [19]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8688505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Sometimes I wonder if you do this on purpose,” Georgie interrupts.
“Do what?” Robbie asks.
“The rest of the time I’m pretty sure it’s just you,” Georgie continues.
“Do what?” Robbie asks.
“I want to take you out,” Georgie says, and before Robbie can mention that yeah, he heard that, he’s not deaf, Georgie kisses him, and Robbie’s world basically implodes.





	

Robbie’s got to say, he loves himself an All-Star break. Last couple years he headed home and let his mamma love him up, but it’s been too long since he had a proper vacation, and obviously he isn’t just going to let Matty remain a Caribbean virgin any longer. The break’s between a game in Dallas and the California trip, so it’s not like the weather’s that much better than what they’ve had and what they will have, but. Caribbean. Obviously superior. Robbie’s hyped for it.

You got us one room?” Matty asks after they check in. It seemed stupid to waste money and get two since they’re so used to sharing, but Robbie belatedly realizes that if Matty wants to pick up that’s going to get really fucking awkward.

“Shit, I’m sure I can get another one,” Robbie says. “Get you your lovin’ space.”

“Gross,” Matty says, then, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Seriously, it’s not a big deal,” Robbie says. “You take that room, I’ll get another.”

“Nah,” Matty says. 

“Nah?” Robbie asks.

“It’s a romantic getaway, right?” Matty says, with an unnecessary eye roll accompanying the word ‘romantic’. “I’m not like, planning on ditching to cheat on you.”

“Aw,” Robbie says, clutching his chest. “You can though.”

“I don’t want to,” Matty says.

“You do kind of need to get laid,” Robbie says.

“Thanks,” Matty says. “Appreciate it, Rob.”

“You’ve been single since what, last season?” Robbie asks.

“Not last season,” Matty argues.

“If you’re talking about the girl last month, two dates before getting ghosted is not a relationship,” Robbie says. “And you never even got laid. C’mon.”

Matty shrugs. 

“Maybe you should try hooking up?” Robbie asks. Matty gives him a bit of a doubtful look, and Robbie gets it, because he’s basically where Matty is on the hook-up thing, but Matty’s dry spell is hurting Robbie on his behalf now. The man deserves to get some.

“I don’t know, maybe,” Matty says. “Not here, though.”

“Let me be your wingman when we hit Cali,” Robbie says. “Guaranteed results, here.”

“No offense, but no,” Matty says.

Robbie waits for the offensive part, but Matty quits there.

“You have a weird idea of offense, Elliott,” Robbie says. Fucking Saskatchewan…ites or whatever.

“Also fuck no,” Matty says with emphasis.

“Okay, that was kind of offensive,” Robbie says. Less the wording and more how emphatic he was.

“Sorry,” Matty says automatically, because he is adorably Canadian.

“So I can?” Robbie asks.

“Fuck no,” Matty repeats. “I know you, Bardi.”

That should probably be offensive too, but Robbie kind of feels him there. Robbie wouldn’t want Robbie as a wingman either.

Sun and sand and fruity drinks and nothing to do but chill is the best possible thing for Robbie’s state of mind right now, and Matty’s the perfect person to do it with. Robbie sends about a billion snaps of him and Matty soaking in the sun to Chaps and Craney, stuck being cold and boss at hockey in Cleveland. _I hope you get a brutal sunburn_ , Crane sends back. Whatever nice Saskatchewan…er thing Matty has going, Crane sure as fuck didn’t get the memo on.

_Italian, baby_ , Robbie replies. _Maybe Matty will come through._ Matty’s already a little pink along the shoulders. It’s probably just a matter of time before his pale ass skin catches fire and Robbie can make fun of him for forgetting his sunscreen then being cheap enough to just use Robbie’s SPF 15 and hope for the best.

_I dont want matty to hes probably suffering enough dealin w u_ , Crane says. 

Rude. Matty’s definitely Robbie’s favorite Saskatchewan…ian.

The day before they have to head back is kind of loaded for the dumbest fucking reason. First off it’s ridiculous that he even notices it’s their anniversary or whatever, let alone that he gives a shit. Or, not even their anniversary. The anniversary of their anniversary. They had one fucking anniversary together, and this is the third time Robbie’s dreading the day before it comes, feeling nauseated when it does. Any way you do the math, that’s pathetic.

“Drinking poker?” Robbie asks when they head to their room after a late lunch. All morning on the beach he was thinking about that stupid, amazing night four years ago, how fucking miraculous it seemed at the time, could barely choke food down at lunch even though he’d eaten a grand total of an omelet at breakfast. He needs to be distracted right now. Their room has a ton of complimentary booze in it, and demolishing it like a solid plan in the making, but he needs to get Matty on board with day drinking first, and it’s not really Matty’s style, so. Drinking poker.

“What’s that,” Matty says suspiciously.

“Like strip poker except shots instead of clothes,” Robbie says, then when Matty looks skeptical, “We could totally do strip though.”

“Fine,” Matty says, blowing out a breath. Matty’s a lot better at poker than Robbie, a fact Robbie already knew and was kind of depending on. Robbie’s plastered and missing his shirt by five-thirty. Not because it became strip poker or anything, it’s just hot even with the AC cranked.

“We had a la carte reservations in an hour,” Matty says kind of sadly.

Robbie waves a hand loosely. "We can go," he decides.

"No," Matty says. "No we can't."

"We can go," Robbie repeats, standing up, but things go a little weird and woozy, and he sits back down.

“Stay there,” Matty says, and Robbie obediently does, mostly because it’s the easiest thing to do. “Water bottle,” Matty says, pressing it into Robbie’s hand. “Drink that. I brought some Aspirin, you can have it if you keep the water down.”

“You’re always so nice to me,” Robbie says. “Is it the whole — Saskatchewan whatever?”

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Matty says.

“I gotta know, is it Saskatchewanite? Saskatchewanian? Saskatchewanese?” Robbie asks him. The words feel kind of like mush in his mouth. “Saskatchewaner?”

“Oh boy,” Matty says. 

“My vote’s for Saskachewaner, if you were wondering,” Robbie tells him.

“I wasn’t,” Matty says. “Drink your water, Bardi.”

“Okay,” Robbie says. “Which one is it?” he asks when he takes a break halfway through the bottle.

“Which one is what?” Matty asks.

“You Saskchewaners call yourselves,” Robbie says.

“Saskatchewanian,” Matty says.

“That’s stupid,” Robbie tells him.

“Stupider than Massachusettsan?” Matty asks. “You’re in the same stupid boat with me, Robbie.”

“Touche,” Robbie says. “I just call myself a Masshole.”

“Fitting, because you are one,” Matty says. “Drink your water.”

Matty hands out the Aspirin after Robbie finishes his water with no incident, tells him to go to bed, and a nap sounds good right now, so Robbie obliges. He wakes up at one in the morning with a bit of headache, a very dry mouth, and he drinks another bottle of water, takes more of the Aspirin Matty thoughtfully left beside his bed. Matty’s breathing soft and steady from the other bed and it’s dimly comforting, the familiarity, better than if he was alone, but it’s too far away, and he feels adrift in his own bed. He kind of wants to text Georgie _happy anniversary_ , but it seems cruel, even to him, and anyway, it isn’t anymore. Not their anniversary, obviously, but not even the right day. 

He needs to do something, he can’t just lie alone in this bed and dwell on it, throat tight and eyes on a dark blurry ceiling. He’s torturing himself with it, like there’s something in him that wants him to keep on hurting until there’s nothing left.

“What are you doing?” Matty asks muzzily when Robbie crawls in beside him. They’ve shared before, but that’s them falling asleep watching a movie or something, not Robbie crawling into bed in the middle of the night.

“Feeling sad,” Robbie says.

“Okay,” Matty says, and doesn’t ask why, just slings an arm over Robbie’s stomach and goes back to sleep.

Robbie still — it doesn’t make the feeling go away, but it helps, and eventually he falls asleep.

“Want to talk about it?” Matty asks, the next morning, and doesn’t press when Robbie shakes his head.

They get back to Washington only to pack their bags again and head to California. It’s funny, because California’s usually the highlight trip, the warm sunshiney break, but Robbie’s literally just back from Bahamas, so it’s kind of meh. He sabotaged himself, there. Typical Robbie.

The day between the Los Angeles and Oakland games Georgie turns twenty-four. His twentieth birthday, things between them were so new that even touching him felt like giving a gift, like getting one. His twenty-first Robbie couldn’t make it out to Cleveland because he had a game, and he spent a half hour on the phone with him after Georgie ducked out of the bar his teammates took him to. Robbie wonders now if he took someone home that night, celebrated being twenty-one and hot shit and free to do whatever the fuck he wanted while his dumbass boyfriend was oblivious over five-hundred miles away. 

Robbie thinks about wishing him a happy birthday, but, you know. Fuck that guy. He doesn’t see him anyway, which is probably for the best.

*

They lose to Merrimack by a goal in the final fucking minute, and it’s all Georgie’s fault.

“We weren’t even on the ice,” Georgie protests. “How is it my fault?”

“You said ‘win or lose tomorrow’,” Robbie says. 

“Acknowledging that it’s possible to lose made us lose?” Georgie asks.

“Yes,” Robbie says.

Georgie grins at him.

“What?” Robbie asks.

“You’re adorable,” Georgie says.

“I am not adorable!” Robbie says. “Braden, tell him I’m not adorable!”

“You are sure as fuck not adorable,” Braden says. “At all. Not even a little.”

“Thank you,” Robbie says. “Also, _hey_.”

“Yeah,” Georgie says. “Hey.”

Braden shrugs. “You asked,” he says.

They don’t end up going to a bar, because it feels kind of wrong after losing at home, but Georgie’s intent on the celebrating thing, and he’s got booze in his room. Between his height and the weight he put on last summer he doesn’t even need his fake ID at the liquor store half the time, so he’s generally pretty set on the alcohol front. They pick up mixers on their way back to the dorms, OJ for Georgie because he likes to pretend it makes the drinks halfway healthy, fruit punch for Robbie. Georgie doesn’t make fun of him for it like literally every other Terrier would, and that is why Georgie is his best friend. 

They knock back two shots apiece before they get the juice involved — fruit punch _is_ a juice and Robbie will fight anyone who says it isn’t — don’t really do much of anything but chill on Georgie’s bed and listen to Kanye. It basically feels like a bunch of other nights they’ve hung out in Georgie’s room except Georgie keeps going ‘Washington Capitals’ and then Robbie laughs kind of hysterically and sets them both off and they chill until Georgie goes ‘Washington Capitals’ again.

It doesn’t really feel real, is what Robbie’s saying. Once they’re running low on mixer and Robbie’s good and drunk he figures he should head out, laugh hysterically in his own room and let Georgie have his tiny bed back. He levers himself up with a grunt, and Georgie grunts too, because Robbie braced his hand on the nearest thing, and that was Georgie’s leg.

“My bad,” Robbie says, patting his thigh twice apologetically then pulling his hand back.

Georgie’s giving him this super weird look. “Do I have something on my face?” Robbie asks, then wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. Not that they’ve been eating anything, but hey, fruit punch stains. 

“I want to take you out next week,” Georgie says.

“Yeah,” Robbie says. “I mean, you totally failed at the buying me all the shots thing. Providing me the shots, sure, but—”

“Sometimes I wonder if you do this on purpose,” Georgie interrupts.

“Do what?” Robbie asks.

“The rest of the time I’m pretty sure it’s just you,” Georgie continues.

“Do _what_?” Robbie asks.

“I want to take you out,” Georgie says, and before Robbie can mention that yeah, he heard that, he’s not deaf, Georgie kisses him, and Robbie’s world basically implodes. 

“What was that?” Robbie asks, when Georgie pulls away before Robbie can do anything but accept it, frozen. “What the fuck was that?”

“Was that not okay?” Georgie says, looking kind of like he’s panicking. Robbie’s panicking right with him.

“Yes,” Robbie says. “I mean, no, I mean. Um.”

“Breathe, Robbie,” Georgie says, and Robbie tries that out.

“You aren’t gay,” Robbie says when he’s managed to take a step back from hyperventilation.

“No,” Georgie says. 

“You like guys?” Robbie asks, kind of shrill. He can hear himself, and it is not fucking pretty, but he can’t really control it.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Georgie says. “I like you.”

Robbie has imagined this so many times it’s pathetic, but he has absolutely no idea how to respond now that it’s happening. 

“Are you fucking with me?” Robbie asks.

Georgie looks hurt. “Seriously, Robbie?” he asks, and yeah, that’s — Georgie wouldn’t do that to anyone, let alone to Robbie.

“I’m just—” Robbie says. “ _Why_?”

“Why did I kiss you?” Georgie says. “Or why do I like you?”

“Yes,” Robbie says. “That.”

Georgie blows out a breath. “I wish you wouldn’t get down on yourself like this.”

“I’m not down on myself,” Robbie says. “I just. I’m me, and you’re—” Robbie gestures at all 6’3”, 210 pounds of…that. Plus dimples and crinkles around his eyes when he smiles, which he isn’t doing right now. An upcoming NHL career, though maybe if Robbie’s lucky that’s something that’ll be true of him as well. 

Georgie doesn’t answer. He kisses him instead, and this time Robbie kisses him back, feeling hot from the tight knot in his stomach to his cheeks. Georgie’s hot too, the back of his neck when Robbie cups a hand around it, his bicep under the thin fabric of his shirt, and Robbie wants more of that, would climb _into_ it if he could, Georgie’s heat and this feeling, everything electric where Georgie’s touching him, hand on his cheek. His other hand slides up the back of Robbie’s shirt, fingers tracing the curve of his spine, and Robbie arches into it before he can help himself. 

The way this is going — Robbie knows the way this is going. “I can’t hook up with you,” Robbie pulls back to say, even though he fucking hates himself for doing it. He can’t though. He can’t just fuck Georgie and then act like it never happened after, it wouldn’t literally kill him but it might hurt as much as dying. “I can’t just—”

“I told you,” Georgie says. “I want to take you out.”

“Whatever that means,” Robbie says.

“You know what I mean, Robbie,” Georgie says.

“Like boyfriends,” Robbie says skeptically.

“Like boyfriends,” Georgie confirms. 

Robbie considers this. “For real?” he asks.

Georgie nods, solemn looking.

Robbie thinks about it for a long moment. Boyfriends isn’t hooking up. Boyfriends is — Robbie can’t compute this right now, he’s just going to go with his gut.

“Can I blow you?” Robbie asks, because apparently his gut is directly connected to his dick.

Georgie nods just as solemnly.

“Cool,” Robbie says. “Take your fucking pants off.” 

Georgie, ever the overachiever, takes everything off, which Robbie is emphatically not complaining about.

“How are you fucking real,” Robbie says, fingers skating over the cut of his hips, his abs going tight when he sucks in a breath, squirms a little, apparently ticklish. Robbie is going to use that to vicious advantage in the future, but right now it seems like a better idea just to get his mouth around him. He’s wanted to long enough not to bother waiting any longer.

“Fuck, Robbie,” Georgie says, voice tight, when Robbie gets a hand around the base of his cock, takes him in without ceremony. Robbie knows he’s had more than his fair share of head in his time, so it’s nice to think that he’s either good enough to fray his resolve or just…Robbie enough or whatever, because Georgie’s not quiet, not still either, thigh muscles jumping and hand in Robbie’s hair, not pulling or anything, just a sort of restless petting, like he can’t help it, brushing Robbie’s hair back from his forehead. 

Robbie can’t fit him in completely, knows from experience that to try would just end in gagging and tears, but he manages to do okay, gets a rhythm going between his mouth and his hand, until Georgie’s going ‘Robbie, fuck, I’m — get off’, which just makes him redouble his efforts until Georgie’s hand is going tight in his hair and he’s spilling bitter across Robbie’s tongue.

Robbie pulls back after a moment, just far enough to press his cheek against Georgie’s hip. Georgie keeps petting through his hair, which feels nice, and he could stay there for awhile, he thinks, except his dick is not in favor of that and Robbie’s not going to lie: his dick is the boss of him.

He sits up, looks at Georgie all mussed up and painfully gorgeous and satisfied. Robbie did that. Holy fuck, _Robbie_ did that. 

So that just happened.

“So that just happened,” Robbie says, because he has no brain to mouth filter whatsoever. It’s his curse.

Georgie laughs breathlessly. “Give me like two minutes and I’ll blow you.”

“Seriously?” Robbie asks.

Georgie gives him an unimpressed look, like ‘what kind of man do you take me for, Roberto’, but Robbie was cool with a handjob or something, even jerking himself off as long as Georgie was kissing him while he did it. Dicks are intimidating at first, especially if you don’t have a lot of experience with any but your own. Hell, Robbie kept his pants on so Georgie wouldn’t have a ‘ahhh, penis’ freakout while Robbie was sucking him off.

“Okay, fine, I will generously allow you to blow me,” Robbie says.

“Thanks babe,” Georgie says.

“You are so welcome my annoyingly handsome friend,” Robbie says. “Boyfriend. Friend that is a boy.” Seriously, somehow he looks even better than usual right now with his hair kind of messy and a flush on his cheeks, crawling down his chest. Robbie doesn’t know how that’s possible, but Georgie is impossibly attractive, so.

“Boyfriend works for me,” Georgie says, and fuck, Robbie just. Can’t. With any of this. He thinks he’s short-circuiting.

“Hey Robbie?” Georgie asks after a minute.

“Yeah?” Robbie asks, finally tearing his eyes away from all of Georgie’s…Georgie, and looking at his face, which is also very Georgie. Robbie’s so fucked, here.

“Take your fucking pants off,” Georgie says.

“Aye aye,” Robbie says, saluting, and does just that.


End file.
